The writer
by PercyFosterMellark
Summary: "I'm just me," I tell him, my voice barely above a whisper. I give him a small shrug as he stares at me, his dark eyes burn me. I can see the pain mirrored in them- the guilt. "I'm just a somebody. I don't understand why you care so much." "Because you're mine!" Jesus whispers angrily, tearing his eyes away from mine, shutting them quickly. "I care so much because I love you."
1. Chapter 1

A/N: Can we picture Ellie as a younger version of the wonderful Shailene Woodley? Yeah? Perfect!

* * *

My head spins, and my eyes can't seem to focus in place. My throat is dry, my wrists aching. Looking down at my wrists, I see bandages, blood soaked through. Even though it hurts to move, I reach to take it off, but a hand stops me. He startled me, and he has a small kind smile on his face. I shake my head, trying to remember what happened.

"Wha-" I choke out, my voice cracking.

He still doesn't say anything, just pulls something out of his pocket and presses it to my hand, and I stare at it. Smiling, I put it back on my ear, a habit that has developed over the years.

Suddenly, the world seems to come back. The low hum of machines, the occasional beeping, and his smile seems to grow. "Can you hear me now?" He asks slowly, trying to be polite, and it surprises me. Most people, well, they make a be deal about it, but he seems calm.

I can only force myself to nod, letting my eyes fall back into the bandages around my wrists. I'm itching to get them off. They're doing nothing but annoying me.

"Good. I brought you some food and water," He tells me, handing me a cold cup of water, and I press it to my lips, dying to feel the cold liquid on my sore throat. "Small sips. You must be confused, Ellie. But it's alright. I'm here to help you."

"How can I trust you if I don't even know your name?" I ask, remembering the stupid rule that my mom always told me. Don't trust somebody if they don't tell you their name.

"Dr. Harmond," He answers, the smile falling off his face. "Ellie, I need to ask you some questions. They're very important, and I need you do be honest with me. Okay?"

"Depends on what they are." I tell him before diving into the bowl of Cheerios.

"They... Uh, they're personal questions," He says, and I bite the inside of my cheek. Of course. "Not about you. They're mostly about your family."

"Look, I'm only 14 years old. I don't know everything for our insurance by memory. Go ask my mom," I tell him coldly, loosing my appitite. "She'll have it all under control for you in a second."

"Ellie, that's the problem," Dr. Harmond says softly, and I look away from him. Whatever happened, I don't want to hear it. I should be at home now, taking care of my uncle and putting my younger brother to bed or waking him up for school. "I can't contact your mother."

"What? Why?" I ask, my throat tightening the way it does when I get nervous or when something bad has happened.

"Ellie..."

"Just tell me!" I shout, anger and fear creeping into my veins. I don't know why I'm here, and two seconds ago I was acting like everything was fine, but now reality has seeped in. I'm in pain, and I don't know why. My mom isn't here like she should be. She knows that I can't do this by myself. My mom... The person who is supposed to help me with this kind of stuff, but she's never been here for me. Why would things change now? She just simply wasn't made to take care of other people, and that's okay. I'd just wish she tries harder.

"First I need you to promise that you won't tell anybody else, alright? And I'll show you."

"I... I p-promise." I stutter, trying to read his face, hoping it'll lead me to an answer of what he'll show me. It isn't good judging by the look on his face, worry lines on his forhead as he looks at me.

"Another thing you need to know," Dr. Harmond tells me, looking at the paperwork on his clipboard. "You can't walk without crutches, your knee, uh... It just needs some time to heal, okay?"

"Whatever." I grumble, swinging my legs over the edge as Dr. Harmony watches me carefully, as if he expects me for fall any second. Ignoring him, I get to my feet slowly. Pain shoots up my leg, but I ignore it. Count to five. Is what my dad always told me. One. Two. Three. Four. Five.

Taking deep breath, I take a careful step forward and bite my lip to stop myself for crying out in pain. I don't want to see weak. Not now, at least.

"Need help?" He asks, his light brown hair falling into his eyes. He reaches out for me slightly as I stumble, but I catch myself.

"No," I tell him, digging my nails into my palms, and taking another deep breath. "I can do this. I'm not glass. I don't break as easily."

He starts to say something, but I cut him off, growing impatient with him. "What did you want to show me?" I ask, feeling proud of myself for the moment. "Something about my mom, right?"

His face becomes more serious than it was before, if that is possible and he nods, walking out of the room, leaving it up to me to catch up with him. He's waiting right outside my door, leaning against the wall. "Are you sure you don't want crutches? They'll help a lot. Give 'em a try for me."

Sighing, I take them from him, and mutter a quick thank you. He starts to walk down the hallway again, and I still struggle to keep up with him. "They take some time to get used to, so don't get angry with them." He tells me, and I don't listen to him, still upset when I loose my grip on the handle.

He stops suddenly, throwing open a door, and I'm greeted by a burst of cold air. "I'll get in trouble if they find out, but you're strong enough to handle this. I know you are."

"I didn't know hospitals still had the morgue inside them." I tell him, and he just rolls his eyes at me as he stares at his clipboard again.

"We're not like most hospitals."

"Yeah, I can see that. But I've always wanted to see a cadaver."

"Hmm, really? Better take Human Anatomy when you get to high school, then. That way you can see all the stuff that intrests teenagers in that class." Dr. Harmond says, making his way across the room, where all the doors are.

Cool, I think. Dead bodies.

He pulls one open slowly, and then looks at me, giving me a small smile. "Get over here," He says, his voice now quiet, and I grow serious again. My curiosity makes me seem childish, according to my mom. "It won't bite, I promise." He tells me when he sees me hesitating.

"You know what they say, curiosity killed the cat." I tell him, even though I start to make my way towards him, putting most of my body weight on the crutches, tired of holding myself up.

"And satisfaction brought it back. You'll want to see this or you won't believe what I'm about to tell you."

"It's just a dead body," I tell him, but it's to convince myself that it can not be that bad. What's the worst it can be? "Not my mom."

"Ellie, that's the thing. Your mom isn't here anymore. She's dead." He doesn't look at me, and I still stare at my feet, my gaze slowly moving to the table, and eventually land on the sheet.

My mom can't be under there. She's not just gone, no matter how mad I was at her before. I can't lose her, I don't know what I would do without her. "No. She's not gone." I reach out to pull the sheet back, and there's a sudden rush of emotions. Anger and confusion. Fear and sadness as I stare at the lifeless face of my mom.

"I'm not lying to you, Ellie..." Dr. Harmond tells me. "But now you'll believe me. Your uncle is unstable, but I'm aware that you already knew that."

"I did." I answer with clenched teeth as I look at my mom. Moms aren't supossed to leave their kids. So why did she leave me?

"Your neighbors say you are very close to your uncle."

"I am."

"Then you understand that he finally... Snapped. And on your mother and your brother... I can show him to you if you want."

"No," I say stiffly. Austin is gone too? "I want to see my uncle." I tell Dr. Harmond, closing my eyes. I can't cry over my mom. Or Austin. My dad says that crying makes you weak, not because you're expressing yourself but becaus then people know how to hurt you."

"Your uncle is very unstable. It isn't a good idea that you see him."

"Why not?" I demand, anger taking over the confusion and sadness. "He's my uncle, I have a right to see him! And you're locking him up anyways, so why does it matter?"

"Trust me on this. He already left you enough scars."


	2. Chapter 2

I hate the Foster System. It's not the fact that terrible people decide to get a fostering license, it's the fact that it's not a actual system. Systems are supposed to be easy, clean and have an effective, consistent now, I'm telling you that the Foster system is far from that. It if were an effective system, the poor girl infront of my would have a family.

"Do you need papers?" She asks, running her fingers through her curly brown hair. She's pretty, but it's clear that she's been going a lot of stress.

"For what?" I ask, staring at my feet. Even though both of us have had a taste of the Foster System, I don't know her personal experience. That's another reason why the Foster system shouldn't be called a system; it was made to help kids without families, but don't care about them.

"It's if you're in an bad Foster house," She explains, giving me a small smile. "So you can find a good place like me. I'm lucky. Really lucky."

"No. I don't need them. I have a family."

"So you're getting adopted?"

"I'm waiting for my dad to come back," I lie, shrugging. "Took off when I was younger."

"He won't come back. You're smart enough to know that."

"You don't know me." I say, probably too harshly, but I can't help my short temper. The simplest things affect my response to situations, and I hate it.

The girl sighs, shrugging. "Alright. My name is Callie Jacob, and I've been in the system for six years with my younger brother, Jude. We found a family about a year ago. Jude got adopted by them, but I didn't because it turns out that I had a biological dad that I have never heard of."

"Nice." I say blankly, and it's clear that my answer upsets her, and her shoulders shrug forward in defeat.

"What's your name?" Callie asks, and I internally groan. I hate telling people my name. It's one simple word, but it bothers me so much. Names aren't important in today's world. People either care about you or don't at all. Most of the people I tend to meet want nothing to do with me.

"Ellie," I answer, giving in to the look in her eyes, and she gives me a smile even though it's forced. "I've only been in the system for about a year and a half."

"Still enough to mess a kid up. That's why I volunteer here. To me, it doesn't matter how old you are or how long you've been in the system, it affects you in some way. I'm here to help."

"You're not helping these kids, Callie. They come here because they think it's safe and it's going to get them away from their foster parents. It's like you're trying to give them false hope." I say, not able to hold it back, but it's true. I come here almost every day because I'm trying to get away from my foster parents, and nothing has happened yet, even though I filled out papers; and that was almost a month ago.

"You know the last time you came here, you didn't talk at all."

"Yeah, what's wrong with that?" I ask, sitting down on the couch.

"It just... Uh, surprised me actually that you were the one screaming at whoever that was."

"He was a asshole, and he started it. I was just defending myself." I grumble, remembering the fight that happened earlier. I wouldn't call it a fight, I would call it a very loud verbal debate.

"Yeah, but last week you were signing. Are you deaf or something?"

"I was born deaf. I promised my biological mom that I wouldn't sign anymore because she worked hard for me to be able to hear."

Callie doesn't say anything else, except for a small sorry. Atleast that's what I think it is as she starts to look sympathetic. Just another person thinking that being deaf is a sad thing. Maybe for some people it is, but I don't mind it at all. Callie walks away, and I pull out the book from my backpack.

My mom hated books too. My mom hated just about anything I loved. She would always yell at me and say that books were just filling my head with fantasy and worlds that would never exist. I know that, of course, but she didn't understand why that's I read. It used to take me away from her. I don't see why it mattered to her so much, it's not like it affected her life.

Even though she was my mom, our lives were completely different. And from some of the girls I've met, they seem to have similar lives. My mom did whatever my mom did. I went to school with my younger brother and made sure that my uncle had something to eat. It wasn't a hard life, expect for the fact that my mom brought drama with her everywhere. She would do something stupid and ask me to help her fix it before my Dad came home from where the Army took him to.

He would always leave for nine months and come back for five. He died when I was 13, so I've only actually known him as my dad for about six years of my life. My dad was the greatest man I ever knew. I'm not saying it because he's my dad, I'm saying because it's true. If I ever meet somebody better than him, I wouldn't hesitate to say so.

It would be hard, though. My dad was so easy to get along with, it still surprises me why would he ever want to marry my mom, and that was the thing about him. He actually loved people. That's why he married my mom, even though he knew that there was a good chance that she would somehow ruin their marriage. Or that she would never love him back in the same way.

"Hey, uh, Ellie?" Callie asks, and I look up at her. "Mike's here for you. Remember when filled out those papers when you first came here? Well, Mike's here to bring you to your new home since your social worker can't make it."

He's too lazy to do anything, that's why. I think as I look behind her to the police officer. He's medium height and has short hair. Immediately, I have the urge to leave right then and there, to not say a word to either one of them. I don't want to spend the night with him. I much rather be alone with nobody looking for me. Atleast then I don't have to worry about anyone getting hurt.

Mike offers me a smile. "I'll take you back to your former foster parents to get your stuff then take you home, deal?"

I don't say anything. I just grab my bag as Callie stares at me, and I know she's upset that I've decided to not say anything.

Mike does what he promises. He takes me to the house I've been living in, and I ignore the yelling from my Foster dad. It only takes me a few seconds to get all my stuff, but Mike is sitting at their table. "Next time I'm here, it's to take away your Foster license." He promises, and I groan internally.

"I'm sorry," Mike says as we walk out the door. I shrug. "Hey kiddo, I really am. It's not okay for people to treat kids like that. I promise I won't let it happen again."

His promise means nothing to me. By now, the only thing that will surprise me is if he does some how keep it. We get in the car, and even though I don't know him, I trust him. I trust him enough to get comfortable in the seat as he stares at me, and I know it's because he does feel sorry for me.

"It's okay to go sleep. Nobody's gonna hurt you, you know that right? It's my job to make sure that doesn't happen," Mike laughs nervously, and I nod. I'm thankful for this. I really am. I just hate the fact that he's trying to help me. I don't deserve it. "I'll find you some kind of home, okay?" He asks.

I don't answer.

Mike sighs, almost angrily, and taps his fingers on the steering wheel. "I can't tell what you're thinking. So we'll just drive through the night until we find some kind of home, okay?"

A/N: TADA IT'S MIKE. I'M REALLY PROUD OF MYSELF FOR WRITING THIS STORY BECAUSE FOR ONCE IT'S NOT BRALLIE CENTRIC. Anyways what do you guys think so far?


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